


Then Sings My Soul

by ranguvar82



Series: Silence and Strength [27]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: Crowley can still remember the first time he heard a human sing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Silence and Strength [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630903
Comments: 12
Kudos: 143





	Then Sings My Soul

Then Sings My Soul

Crowley still remembers the first time he heard a human sing. He and Aziraphale had been in Mesopotamia, and the angel had been gently carding his fingers through the demon’s curls, tutting quietly at how unkempt they were, when Crowley had suddenly stiffened, turning towards the small village on the horizon. “Crawley?”

Without a word(not that he could have said one anyway) the demon had gotten to his feet, walking as if in a trance towards the cluster of huts. Aziraphale followed, brow knitted in confusion. The demon walked into the village, eyes fixed on a remote spot and mouth open in surprise and wonder.

They stopped at what appeared to be a gathering of the village folk, all dressed up in their finest. Aziraphale could see that they were having a celebration of some sort, for the statue of one of their gods(a harvest one, the angel thought) was covered in greenery, and the people were dancing about it, smiling. A few were even playing some instruments(some with a better degree of success than others). Before Aziraphale could ask Crowley what it was that had made him so rapt, he heard it.

Singing. One of the women of the village was singing. Crowley watched her, eyes blurring with tears. He gulped, his hands going to his scarred throat. Aziraphale was looking at him in a mix of surprise and pity, and he felt himself shaking with shame. Oh, how he wished he could join them. His voice...the voice that had once compelled galaxies, wooed the angel next to him, and made him beloved by his Mother, was gone. Gone in a fit of petty jealousy. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it. But he couldn’t. Instead, he gripped Aziraphale, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep from breaking down completely.

And somehow, the angel, his sweet, beloved angel, understood. He wrapped his arms around the sobbing demon, holding him in his warm embrace. “You...you were a singer, weren’t you? In Heaven.”

Crowley could only nod, hot tears soaking into the angel’s robes.

The woman finished her song and the villagers started another. Aziraphale looked over at them. “Crawley, if you want we could...”

Crowley shook his head violently. ‘Stay. I...haven’t heard singing since I...’ the demon gulped. ‘Since Heaven.’

“Yes, I can’t imagine there being much singing in Hell.” Aziraphale said dryly, earning a watery smile from the demon. “Not that there’s any in Heaven.”

Crowley sniffled, pressing himself closer to the angel, and together they sat and watched.

Over the millennia, song became once again an integral part of Crowley’s life. First it was all the instruments that the mortals created. Being the former Angel of Song, he was able to master every one of them with ease, and he used that knowledge mostly to woo Aziraphale, who always looked so happy when Crowley would play for him. (Both agreed that harps were right out, as they had some implications that neither cared for, and Crowley, while he did enjoy the fiddle, absolutely refused to play Devil Went Down to Georgia. He had standards). Then it was the music boxes, an obsession fueled by the first one given to him by Aziraphale. Crowley had been like a, pardon the phrase, demon possessed.

He had kept up with the different ways of recording songs, from wax cylinders to vinyl to MP 3 players to CDs and back again.

When they moved to their cottage, Crowley had turned one of the rooms into his Music Room(though it had taken a few miracles to make it large enough to hold all the instruments he had acquired over the years), and he and Aziraphale would spend hours in there, the angel listening raptly as Crowley played one of his pianos, plucked out a tune on a guitar, or simply wound up a few of his boxes.

One constant over the years though, was that while Aziraphale loved to hear Crowley play, and had loved to hear Zophiel sing, was that he himself never sung. Oh, his voice was fine enough(downright angelic, in fact), but Aziraphale had always felt as though it would have been wrong. So when he asked Crowley to come into the Music Room, because he had a surprise, Crowley had been curious.

Aziraphale was sitting on one of the couches, a guitar in his hands and an expression of deep nervousness on his face. “I...I wanted to do something special for you. You made the garden, and...well, I thought about cooking something, but I do that all the time, and well, I hope you like what I decided to do.” The angel took a deep breath, then began singing, strumming the guitar.

“I’ll be your mirror, reflect what you are/in case you don’t know/I’ll be the wind, the rain, and sunset/The light on your door to show that you’re home...”

Crowley gulped, eyes brimming with tears.

“When you think the night has seen your mind/That inside you’re twisted and unkind/Let me stand to show that you are blind/Please put down your hands/’Cause I see you...”

The rest of the song was cut off by a sobbing demon pressing his lips to Aziraphale’s and kissing him breathless.


End file.
